


Hey Now

by coconutcluster



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Flirting, Fluff, Like, M/M, One Sentence, and a lil bit of side logicality, and i mean a little bit, and it is slightly rushed but it was mostly for fun, i can take a break from breaking people, its based on hey now by the regrettes, not really fluff but definitely not angst, thank god, theres a bunchhhh of prinxiety, this was a prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-25 01:49:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14966519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coconutcluster/pseuds/coconutcluster
Summary: Roman Prince is a mess.At least he's an attractive one.(based loosely on "Hey Now" by The Regrettes)





	Hey Now

  Roman Prince is a mess, but at least he’s an attractive one.

  That’s what he told himself as he rushed around his apartment earlier this morning, anyway - he just finished his latest show, and he had been admittedly frazzled the last week, and maybe his apartment had gotten a little messed up (his landlord would attest that particular word choice, but his landlord isn’t here, so that’s irrelevant, isn’t it now?) in the process, and  _ perhaps  _ he chose to deal with that mess by… not dealing with it. At all. 

  Which explains why he’s walking around the boardwalk with strawberry sherbet dripping down his hand, squinting behind his favorite pair of sunglasses (they’re holographic) under the Florida sun with his arms half-raised in the air to avoid the group of teenagers pushing past him without so much as a rushed “‘scuse me”. Roman hums under his breath as the group waddles away, their flip flops smacking against the wood in obnoxious cacophony with their mingling laughter and shouting at unsuspecting birds on the railings of the boardwalk. 

  He brings a hand to his face shields his eyes from the sun - his glasses are striking, yes, but Beyonce wasn’t lying when she said pretty hurts; they’re absolutely useless, and his head’s already aching from knitted eyebrows over slitted eyes - and shuffles to the nearest shack, a little Barbie-doll-looking trailer with a canopy that boasts the state’s best Lemon Shake Ups; Roman just can’t resist the drink (or the shade). He grabs a napkin from the dispenser at the counter and wipes sticky red syrup off his hands as he watches the vendor comes to the counter from the corner of his eye.

  “How can I help you?” they ask, although their voice melds it into a bored statement more than a question. 

  “Just a Shake up, please,” Roman responds, tossing the stained napkin in the trash, his half-eaten and thoroughly-melted sherbet close behind. “Extra ice.”

  The figure in his peripheral pauses. “You know a Shake up is already, like, eighty percent ice, right?”

  “I do, but it’s one thousand degrees here and I’m ready to jump in the Antarctic ocean if it means I’ll cool down a bit,” Roman says, and the vendor actually laughs, catching his attention, so he finally looks up.

  And almost falls over.

  The vendor is a boy his age, with purple-dyed hair falling into his round brown eyes and pale skin with a smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks, and his mouth is pulled into an easy smirk. He’s wearing a black baseball tee and ripped black jeans under his bright yellow uniform apron despite the heat as he leans his hip against the counter.

  He’s  _ gorgeous.  _

__ Roman doesn’t realize he’s staring until the boy glances at him and raises an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”

  “Oh,” Roman says with all the eloquence of a newborn squirrel, and he swallows quickly, regaining his composure and flashing his token smile at the work of art in front of him. “Well, I suppose you could.”

  The boy pauses his work to stare quizzically at Roman. “How’s that?”

  “You could tell me your name.”

  He freezes for a moment before laughing again, setting Roman’s drink on the counter and leaning forward onto the counter with his elbows. “That’ll be three bucks.”

  Roman smiles. “For the drink, or your name?”

  “The drink,” he says, but a second later he mutters a quick, “It’s Virgil,” as he takes Roman’s money.

  “Virgil,” Roman repeats reverently, rolling the word around in his head. “Very fitting.”

  “I’m sure,” the boy - Virgil - snarks; he levels his gaze at Roman, and it takes a second for the latter to reorient his ability to function. ”Do you have a name, or do you just like stealing other people’s?”

  “Roman,” he manages, sending Virgil another dashing smile. “Roman Prince.”

  Virgil hums in response, looking Roman up and down, his mouth quirking up at the corners. “Prince, huh?” Roman takes a bow and Virgil snickers. “Yeah, that works.”

  “So, Virgil,” Roman says, revelling in the way the name sounds in his mouth, “when’s your birthday?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Your birthday,” he repeats with a crooked grin, and he nearly laughs at Virgil’s dubious expression. “I read somewhere that my most compatible month is May - I’m just checking the facts.”

  “Well, guess your Cosmo magazine was wrong,” Virgil snorts as he sets to wiping down the counter. “It’s in November.”

  “You do think we’re compatible, though?”

  Virgil blinks. “Fuck, wait-”

  “Mmmm, no, you said it, no take-backs,” Roman says in a singsong voice, taking a sip from his drink as the other boy glares at him despite the barely-repressed smile on his face. 

  “What are you, five?”

  “Five star, sure.” 

  Virgil snorts again. “Right.” He puts a hand on his hip and raises a single eyebrow down at Roman, his gaze flicking over the other boy’s outfit, a simple white t-shirt with a golden crown in the corner and red skinny jeans. “Well, Mr. Five Star, I actually do have work to do, so maybe go flirt with the kid in the snow cone booth - he’s more your type.”

  “And what exactly is my type?” Virgil ducks and points, so Roman looks back at the booth across the boardwalk - it’s a boy in a bright blue shirt and round glasses who’s making heart eyes at his black-clad coworker, a crimson blush across his face.

  “Bright,” Virgil answers Roman’s question, his voice tinged with something bitter. “Lively, maybe a little dull-”

  “Hey!” Virgil exhales a laugh. “Besides, who are you to say who I like and don’t like?” Roman leans forward, an inch away from Virgil’s face, his smile growing at the blush that spreads across the pale boy’s face. “Maybe I think you’re cute, and a lot of fun,” he says, tracing the counter idly with his fingertips, “and maybe we can go on a date sometime?”

  Virgil swallows with an audible click in his Adam’s apple, bangs shifting out of his eyes along the breeze. “Give me your drink.”

  Roman blinks, taken aback, but slowly hands him the barely-touched Shake Up. Virgil pulls a Sharpie out his apron and scrawls something across the cup before shoving it back at its owner. 

  “Now shoo,” he says, waving Roman out of line, which had only just begun to grow again. “And text me,” he adds, just as the next customer is at the counter and rattling their order off to him.

  Roman looks down at his drink - over the label is a rushed, chicken-scratch phone number and a cartoon crown, signed with a single  _ V _ .

  He glances back at the shack one more time and sets out down the boardwalk, a hand on his phone and a smile on his face.

 

 


End file.
